Baby Steps

corner, searching for nothing more than the great beacon of light that the front sign of the bus produced to a cold, tired waiter, it was odd to see the giant mechanical monster at the side of the road, pathetic and lame. Mark chose a bus parked on the outside of a row, as it would be the easiest and quickest to pull out of the spot. Taking the same saw he used to cut apart the fence, he wedged it into the tiny gap at the back door of the bus. He expected this would be the easiest spot to enter the bus, as these doors didn’t fold but merely spread open. With a few more giggles of the saw, he was able to prop the doors open just a crack, large enough to get his hand in. He pulled the doors apart, and soon, he was in.

His footsteps echoed in the vehicle walking to the driver’s seat. This noise was rare, even during off-peak hours. The noise of the motor and other passengers was generally much louder. Sitting down in the rather comfortable driver’s chair, he examined the instruments.

They were mostly darkened digital readouts, looking like the business district of a small town past eight o’clock. He pulled a key from under the visor and started the motor. It turned over with a rather gutteral rumble, and the display systems began to beep loudly. He fumbled around, looking to turn off the noise. He changed the display to “out of service,” and pulled out of the parking spot. As he pulled up the exit, he noticed a metal gate. If it wouldn’t open, he would be in trouble. Slowly pulling up, he willed with hard with his mind to be magnetic. He smiled in cool relief as it swung open, and he cruised out into the streets of Los Angeles. Out of some remarkable feat, the guard hadn’t noticed him leave.

Meanwhile, in the back of the bus, Heather Aiken stirred. She slumbered in the very corner of the bus, curled up over the two seats. The driver of the last route hadn’t even noticed that she didn’t get off; he was in a rush to get home, and he hastily parked in the depot, leaving her alone to fend for herself. She had been on her way from Downtown to her home in Santa Monica. Feeling the motion of the bus, she knew she must have slept through her stop. Out of a reflex, she pulled the stop request cord and gathered her things from the empty rear. Had everyone gotten off already?

The stop request light illuminated on the dashboard, and Mark grew pale as a ghost.

Was there a malfunction? A spectral rider? He thought it ridiculous and tapped the light on the dashboard hard with a hard lashing of his finger. It went out and he laughed. Of course he was alone.

“Last stop until hell,” he said aloud, in a voice that he had been making since his infancy, trying to sound like the devil.

“Aren’t I on the 20 going down Wilshire?” said Heather. Mark grew wan again, and stopped at the traffic light. He incredulously craned his head over his shoulder, and got a start when he saw Heather standing behind him, with her bag strewn over her shoulder. Nervously,